A Summer's Day
by Sa-kun
Summary: They were currently sitting out in the backyard on a transfigured couch with three legs. Charlie had brought a leg up on the seat and Harry was curiously pulling the loose trousers Charlie wore up to the man's knee. // CWHP, mentions of past child abuse


Been a while since I last posted anything here. Anyway, this is just a one-shot. There are mentions of **child abuse**, **strong sexual suggestions**, both **implied **and **acted out**, **homosexuality**. No spoilers and all and the entire fic is very much AU. It focuses on Charlie and Harry.

Let me know what you think, eh?

_

* * *

"Hey, where's Harry?"_

_"Oh," Mrs Weasley said, a worried frown on her face. "The poor dear wasn't feeling very well. I told him to stay in bed. Charlie should—"_

_"Charlie's home?"_

-x-

It was shortly before noon when Harry finally woke up without the accompanying insistent urge to fall right back asleep again. He had a dim memory of Mrs Weasley stroking his hair and placing a warm hand on his forehead. He remembered her voice and that it had been so soothing and caring but not what she had said. The guilt from lying to the Weasleys was almost gone, but at the same time he knew that he couldn't have kept up the pretence of being all right for very long.

He wasn't ill, not really. True, the 'stomach ache' part wasn't all a lie, but it wasn't a bug or a virus that was the cause. Sitting up carefully, Harry winced. It hurt. Everything hurt… "…and they wonder why I don't like my relatives," he muttered, fingering his spilt lip briefly. He grabbed his shirt by the hem and awkwardly, carefully, pulled it off over his head. "_Ahh_," he winced.

Harry's shoulders and arms were littered with black and purple grab-marks and the rest of his torso sprinkled with bruises that weren't made by fat, grabbing hands. He really hated Dudley and his gang. Feeling pretty sure that Mrs Weasley stocked some of her potions and ointments in the kitchen somewhere he stood on somewhat shaky legs and slowly ambled his way downstairs.

By the time his skin was shiny and smooth from the ointments most of his body had stopped aching, and he was cautiously fingering his sore throat. Uncle Vernon's…goodbye: grabbing him by the throat and more or less throwing him out.

"Stomach-ache, was it?" a hushed, grave voice suddenly said from behind him and it startled Harry so badly he almost tumbled off the table. Charlie Weasley stood there, leaning casually against the doorpost, arms crossed over his chest with a serious expression on his face.

"Charlie—"

"I know that sometimes lying to Mum is all for the better – the fussing gets a bit much sometimes, you know? But even if you could somehow convince me that you beat yourself up this isn't one of those times." Charlie had walked close as he spoke and Harry had tried to shrink back – unsuccessfully. He placed a hand gingerly on Harry's shoulder, then slowly stroked down his bony spine. Harry shivered.

"I only ever beat myself up mentally," Harry said quietly. Then he hissed as Charlie's fingers pushed against something that hurt – _hurt_ – near the centre of his back.

Wordlessly, Charlie reached around Harry and grabbed the half empty jar. "Does Pomfrey know?"

"Of course she does. You can't… No one can hide anything from her, Charlie." Harry smiled ruefully. "I almost did, though. Almost got by until Snape dragged me there a week and a half into my First Year. I hated him, at that moment. Absolutely hated him for exposing me like that…"

"I always wondered…" Charlie trailed off, gentle fingers massaging the ointment into Harry's back. It had both healing and pain numbing qualities, perfect for 'Maladies During Playtime', like it was called. It left a lot to be desired but it _did _take the edge off the pain.

"Hmm?"

"Why some students were pulled aside by teachers after the holidays and came back a day later."

"Yeah, well." Harry shrugged. "Now you know. We get beat up by our dysfunctional families."

Charlie stilled, his palm pressed flat against Harry's back. "Fuck you."

Harry blinked and looked at him over his shoulder. His expression was honestly confused, green eyes wide and earnest. "What?"

"How the fuck can you say that like it's bloody normal?"

"Well," Harry said, "It is. I don't remember not being slapped across my fingers or shoved aside. Snape told me to get over myself – I'm not alone, not hardly and Pomfrey has me write a diary that she can check from her office. If I feel like blaming someone…it has to be my relatives. But…I can't. Yes, I hate them, but…I can't fault them for being afraid." Harry suddenly lowered his voice and hunched up his shoulders – Charlie couldn't even fathom how the boy could even _move_ them without wincing considering how sore and bruised and swollen they looked. "I blame Dumbledore, sometimes. For always making me go back. Once – no, twice. Twice a year, Snape stands up for me and is on my side. Both times, Dumbledore just…brushes him off, gives me a Lemon Sherbet and waves me out of his office." As he spoke Harry moved until he was resting his arms on his knees and was almost folded in half.

Charlie shifted and sat on the table next to Harry, a hand still on his back. "I don't get how you can sit like that. It's gotta hurt."

Harry blinked, then he began laughing but it was a laugh without humour – hollow and empty. "It does," he admitted. "Like hell, I suppose. But I'm so used to it that—" Charlie grabbed him almost as soon as the words escaped him and pulled him upright. Harry's face scrunched up and he winced. Hurried movements hurt.

"Bloody idiot," Charlie muttered and Harry turned his head and glared. Charlie paled suddenly and Harry frowned. Had he somehow perfected his glaring techniques – ah, no, Charlie was raising his hand and reaching for his face, something… Oh.

"I hurt my lip." It was split. The mottled eyes narrowed and the hand moved for Harry's forehead, gently brushing his errant fringe out of the way. "There was a wall."

"You ran into a wall?"

Harry sucked on his lip. "Well. Um, no. But there was a wall." Dudley had tripped him and Arry had been sent flying – straight into the wall. It had amused Dudley and his friends to no end. Charlie's hand moved on and Harry found the carefree way he dragged his fingers over the dark red marks on his throat incredibly soothing.

-x-

_"Yes, dear. He wanted to see you off this year and since he couldn't make it back at all last year he said he could stay almost a month this time. It'll be nice, don't you think dear? Having Charlie back home with us again."_

_"Yeah," Ron muttered. "But – hey, wait, Charlie's _alone_ with Harry?"_

-x-

Charlie had helped Harry into one of his own shirts as it was softer, cleaner and a great deal more comfortable than any of Harry's rags.

They were currently sitting out in the backyard on a transfigured couch/armchair-thing with three legs. Transfiguration, it appeared, was not one of Charlie's stronger talents. It did the trick, though, provided they sat still and didn't move too much. Charlie had brought a leg up on the seat and Harry was curiously pulling the loose trousers Charlie wore up to the man's knee.

"You've seriously got a tattoo?"

"Yep." He sounded immensely proud.

"That's just too cool."

Charlie grinned. "Thank you, Harry. Glad to have your approval." Harry stuck his tongue out, then bent back over Charlie's knee. "Other side, Harry. Not that I mind having your head between my legs, but if you want to see my tattoo you're gonna have to—"

"Shut up," Harry muttered, face Weasley-red. He pushed the knee towards Charlie's other leg then tilted his head and Charlie awkwardly stretched his leg out. The angle was all wrong and Charlie was hardly a graceful man, but they managed. A little pictogram of a man was moving around down there, by the ankle. Its lazy behaviour and conduct reminded Harry somewhat of a cat. "Why—"

"My name. Means man," he elaborated at Harry's blank look. "I had a period when I was sixteen, seventeen."

"About…?"

"The origin of names. Yours is…" Charlie hummed and bit his lip, eyes narrowed in thought. "Hmm, yes…ah, right!" He snapped his fingers then jabbed Harry square on his forehead. "Home-ruler, I think."

"Home…ruler?"

"Mmm. Bill's will-helmet."

"What's a will-helmet?"

"No idea." Charlie laughed. "I annoyed him to no ends about it, I'm sure. I know it may be hard for you to believe, dear Harry, but I can be a very troublesome younger brother." He winked, eyes sparkling and the mock-seriousness of his voice became, if possible, even more apparent.

"I don't, and you look like Fred and George."

Charlie waggled his eyebrows. "Who do you think got them started on their deplorable carrier?"

Harry chuckled and shook his head. "I should've known," he murmured. His index finger leisurely traced a figure eight around the protruding knob, occasionally tracing across the small tattoo that covered its head and tried to escape. He smiled childishly every time as the cross expression on the inky face was almost too amusing, and he found himself doing it again just to spite it.

"Harry?" Charlie's voice was strangely thick and Harry looked up, curious. "My foot?"

Harry blinked. His finger stroked across the smooth skin. "Hmm?"

Charlie wet his lips. "My muscles are protesting." Harry blinked again in confusion, then looked down. He swallowed.

"Oh. Sorry!" Harry pulled back, his face burning and he bit his upper lip.

-x-

_"Of course he is. Don't be silly, dear, Charlie is more than capable taking care of someone who's feeling a bit under the weather."_

_Ron opened his mouth but couldn't find anything to say, so he shut it again. "But Mum," he began a while later. Mrs Weasley shushed him with a glare. "Mum—"_

_"Ronald."_

_Ron sighed. "Yes, Mum."_

-x-

"Hungry?"

Harry shrugged until Charlie prodded him in the shoulder with a hard finger. "Yeah, yeah. Sure. A bit. Soup?"

Charlie grimaced. "_Soup_?" His stomach rumbled loudly. "I'm hungry, you know. I want…hmm…" Tapping his lips with his fingers, Charlie turned away and glanced speculatively at the kitchen. "I wonder…"

"Charlie?" Charlie, however, didn't appear to hear him and was slowly but surely walking towards the kitchen. "Right." Harry nodded and rolled his eyes. "Good for you…"

But then he was suddenly alone. He hadn't been alone since…noon. When he had been slathering his body with the ointment and his head had been pounding with a headache. He hadn't realised until just now that the pounding just behind his eyes had all but disappeared or that Charlie had an extremely fit arse. Harry's eyes widened and he tore his fixed gaze away from said backside and hurriedly sat down in a chair facing _away _from the kitchen. He knew there was a reason why he hadn't thought of his aches and bruises all day – Charlie had distracted him, and done a bloody good job out of it, too. Charlie was easy to get along with: funny and witty and brash and— Harry cut himself off before the list began to tower over him. Or the furious blush erupted on his face. Damn redhead genes.

Just thirty minutes ago he had been sitting outside stroking Charlie's foot. _And he hadn't even noticed he was doing it until Charlie asked him to stop_!

"Hey!"

Harry was instantly sitting upright. "Yeah?"

"Get in here, you lazy sod, and start peeling the potatoes!"

"Po—yes, yeah! I'm coming!"

Charlie smirked and winked. "So soon?"

Harry's cheeks flamed and he muttered something about Charlie being a bloody pervert and stupid and that he should bloody well shut up and not say stuff like that.

-x-

Later, when they were eating the potatoes and the steak and the fried vegetables, Charlie levelled Harry with a frank stare and said, rather matter-of-factly, "I don't find Fleur hot."

Harry blinked, bemused. "Okay," he said around his fork. "Good for you?"

"I suppose." Harry thought Charlie sounded slightly strange – amused, somehow. He wasn't sure at what, though.

"I'm not really into blondes."

"No?"

Harry shook his head. "Guess I'm a bit like my dad."

Charlie chuckled once. "Your dad?"

"Mmm. Mum was a redhead." Harry winked. "Guess I got it from him."

"You're into redheads?"

Harry shrugged and put down his fork. Leaning his head on an upturned hand, he sighed and said, "I guess. It's so bright, you know? And it's Weasley, and your family's always been so kind, y'know? Ron thinks I'm mental. For thinking red hair's cool. I suppose I'm into a bit of everything, though. Except blondes. But, yeah."

"Well, he would." Charlie ran a hand though his own unruly but equally red, although a few shades darker than the rest of the Weasleys, hair. It resembled Ginny's most in colour, now that Harry thought about it. The likeness ended there, however. His hair was shaggy and untamed, windswept and wavy, longish fringe falling into his eyes. His mottled grey eyes had hints of green. Actually, now that Harry thought about it, Charlie had quite nice eyes, too. "Harry," Charlie said suddenly, voice soft. Harry made a noise of some kind of agreement. "You're staring." Harry snapped his eyes away. "I don't mind, you know." He smiled amicably. "But you're not exactly bad looking, Harry, and I'm only human."

"What?" Harry said warily, keeping his eyes averted.

Charlie sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm gay, Harry—" Harry's eyes were on him faster than light. "—and you're ruining your potatoes."

"Wha—?"

Charlie laughed. Belatedly Harry looked down at his plate and instantly winced. They didn't even look close to anything resembling potatoes any more.

-x-

_"Why does it matter that Charlie's alone with Harry?" Hermione looked both curious and worried._

_Ron grimaced. "You're gonna think I'm a prejudiced bastard."_

_"Ron—"_

_"He's gay."_

_"_Harry_?!"_

_"No!" Ron grimaced again and shook his head. "Well, we wouldn't know, would we?"_

-x-

Sitting absolutely still and hardly daring to breathe, Harry leaned back – subtly, of course – into Charlie's hands as he professionally massaged another round of Healing and Pain Numbing salve into his bruises. Charlie's hands were large and rough, calloused from years of working with dragons and flying on brooms. They were warm and skilled and Harry felt almost as safe as when Madame Pomfrey was taking care of him; on some unconscious level he just knew that he could trust Charlie to make him all right again. Maybe he could for all Harry knew.

"Have you thought about what you want to do after you Graduate, mate?"

Harry lazily shook his head.

"I hear you make a pretty damn good Seeker."

"Mmm…I love flying…"

Charlie laughed. "Yeah?"

"Exhilarating. Ohh," Harry groaned as Charlie began rubbing at a knot of tightly wound muscles just under Harry's left shoulder blade. He arched his back and Charlie's hands stopped moving. "No, no…don't stop? That feels so nice…yes, yes…thanks…"

"Ron tells me you don't have a girlfriend." Harry tensed, but Charlie just continued to rub his back. "Wanna talk about something else?" Harry shrugged — "Don't do that," came the sharp reprimand – and looked at Charlie over his shoulder.

He looked very indecisive, and his words when he spoke came out in a mumbled rush, "It's just easier not liking anyone because I'm not sure I could handle it and when I go home during the summer I always forget that I have friends and I think that I'm alone all over again and that I deserve it and that I'm not worth anything and I almost begin believing them by the end of the summer so I'm always just as awed every time I get to stay here again and you care about me." Harry fastened his impossibly green eyes on Charlie's. "Do you think Ron'd understand that?"

"Honestly?" Charlie asked quietly and Harry nodded. "Honestly…" he trailed off. "Honestly I'm not sure I do."

"Oh." His shoulders slumped and his face was a perfect picture of disappointment. Harry didn't even move or show any indication of noticing as Charlie slipped his arms around Harry's chest and tugged him, back first, to his chest.

"Harry…I just meant I grew up here: I don't get…abuse. I've never– Mum and Dad'd never hurt us. How could we ever understand?" Harry bent his head but didn't say anything. Charlie cleared his throat. "I guess…I guess that after I started working with the dragons I got to see more of the destructiveness in humans, but…and, yeah, anyone who abuses the dragons gets kicked out because doing that is just wrong and plain sick, but—"

"Do you think I should've let Snape have a go at my relatives?" Harry interrupted, without appearing to notice he was, in fact, doing so. He sounded pensive. "He said he'd do it, in that circumspect way of his, if I wanted him to. But he'd've been disappointed in me, I think, because that's something Potter would've done, not Lily. He liked Lily, I think. He looked kinda proud for a moment when I said no…I already know I'm above them, I don't need to have them killed to prove that…" Harry whispered.

"Eh—"

"Is it wrong that I wanted them to be left alone?"

"I guess—"

"Because if I did tell Snape to do it, then I'd be just like _them_, wouldn't I? Just as pathetic and vile and—" Charlie held a hand over Harry's mouth.

"Harry," he said slowly. "Are you sure you want to be telling me all this?"

Harry blinked, blinked again then looked around himself and dislodged Charlie's hand. "Charlie?" his voice was almost insecure and faintly confused.

"Yeah, Harry?"

"I…I think I forgot—"

Charlie sighed and nodded, resting his chin on Harry's tousled hair. "Yeah, I got that."

Breathing out shakily, Harry slowly relaxed into Charlie's embrace. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it."

Harry nodded shakily. "Thanks."

-x-

_"…gay? Charlie— you have a gay brother and never told me?!"_

_Confused, Ron shrugged at Hermione. "Yeah, so? What's the big—"_

_"Ronald Weasley!"_

_"Hermione?"_

_"A gay man does not lust after all the men he sees!"_

_Ron rolled his eyes. "Duh!" Then he sobered slightly and muttered, "but he does have thing for hooking up with his brothers' friends."_

-x-

"Can I ask you something?"

"Again?" Charlie asked, amused.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, whatever. Can I?" Charlie nodded. "What's it like, being gay?"

Charlie slowly opened his eyes and sat up. Levelling Harry with a frank gaze he said, not sounding amused in the slightest and if he had to pick an emotion, Harry would've said he sounded almost…offended. Offended and annoyed, "I don't know, Harry. What's it like being _straight_?"

Harry looked away, then, and stared at the trees in the distance and wondered why he always managed to insult people without meaning to and why he was so stupid. Now he'd gone and made the only Weasley around upset, and… He sighed and shook his head. "I don't know," he answered honestly several minutes later. "I don't know…that's why I asked. Partly, why, anyway. I mean…you know what you want and you have to feel stuff and want to…_you know_, and I just figured…maybe the emotions would be the same, or something? Like, when you see a hot bloke—"

"—my heart speeds up and I get…aroused?"

"Do you?"

Charlie sighed and lay back down on the grass. He spread his arms and feet out and stared at the clouds moving across the pale blue canvass high above. "Sometimes. Mostly I just appreciate the good looks and take a long good look at his arse, you know?" Harry shook his head; no, he didn't know… "Never stared at a gal's arse?"

"No. It's just an…arse. Ron's don't look that different from Hermione's, and, well. I don't see it."

"Boobs?"

Harry grimaced. "Well. No. Ron's given me marathon lectures on the subject, but…no… Do you see the big deal?" The magazines had thoroughly traumatised and freaked him out. Granted, he had been thirteen at the time and not quite out of the 'girls are yucky phase'. Emotions and just _feeling _worked better for him. Or hands. Imagining someone else's hand stroking him and touching…

Charlie blinked. Then he turned his head and winked at Harry. "I like cock, mate."

Harry's eyes lit up and he leaned closer to Charlie. "Yes! And that! I've never got the whole fascination thing with, um. Ron gave me marathon lectures on the 'lady bits', too."

Slyly, Charlie said, eyes twinkling, "I could give you one on the 'manly bits'." At that, Harry laughed.

"I've got 'the bits', mate. I'm seventeen; I think I know how to wank by now."

"You sure about that, Harry?" Charlie winked and pointedly lowered his gaze a few notches. "I could give you a few pointers."

Harry would be lying if he said he didn't definitely feel a spark of arousal and interest at the invitation. His breath hitched slightly and his cheeks turned faintly pink, but he shook his head. "I'm all right."

"Suit yourself."

Harry snorted. "Think highly of yourself, do you?"

"I have eight years on you, mate. _Years_ more of practical field work."

"There is that," Harry mused and Charlie laughed. "Can I lie down yet?" Charlie had expressively forbidden Harry to lie down or put on a shirt until the salve had dried. So while Charlie was comfortably stretched out on the grass, Harry was sitting, back slumped as it tended to happen after a while, and now it was aching. Badly.

A hand briefly ran down his spine and Harry turned expectant eyes to Charlie. "Go ahead."

"Yessss," Harry hissed and flopped back with an ecstatic sigh. "Ah," he groaned. "My back was killing me; don't you just hate sitting without a backrest or anything?"

"Oh, yes. Terrible. How can you even lie on your back?"

"Honestly?" Harry closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He loved the smell of grass in the summers. "Lying on my stomach hurts much more and I'm used to it by now. It's got to do with perspectives, really. If I had a sunburn on my back or a flesh wound of some kind I'd probably remain standing until it was healed, but I'm so used to the bruises that I've kind of learned how to lie to cause as little pain as possible. It's like… Hermione told me she has headaches like everyday or something, but she's grown so used to them that she barely notices them unless they're _really _bad. I guess it's kinda like that."

"Right," Charlie said quietly.

Harry smiled, seeing the brightness of the sun behind his closed lids and loving the feel of warm breeze blowing across his face and his burning skin. Maybe he'd tan. He had barely been outside this summer – the Dursleys had locked him inside, more or less, with tons of chores. Painting the ceilings mostly and tearing down old tapestries. He hoped wizards could paint with their wands because after several weeks upon weeks worth of painting he was mighty tired of it. The ceilings, the outside of the house, the fence, the garage, the shed…

Mr Weasley had been the most wonderful person in the world when he showed up late yesterday evening to pick him up. Although resentful that he'd only get to stay one week at the Burrow, he was still grateful that he had one week away from his relatives before it was back to Hogwarts. That way, he'd be mostly healed when September first rolled around, but Snape would still drag him off to see Pomfrey and they somehow always knew anyway what had happened to him.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Snape," Harry said, mostly to get a reaction out of Charlie.

Charlie wasn't like Ron, though, and he merely said, "Oh."

"Yeah…"

Biting his lip, Harry frowned and wondered how two brothers could be so different. Did the fact that Ron was the second youngest and Charlie the second oldest really matter that much? Or was Charlie simply more…mature because he was older and worked with dragons and had moved out? Charlie was a bit mischievous and he laughed and smiled a lot, which Harry found really warming. He poked fun at Harry, just like the twins, and yet he made Harry feel like they were equals, but he wasn't condescending about it like Percy and he most certainly wasn't shy and blushed like Ginny had done years ago. Perhaps he was more like Bill, but Harry didn't really know much about Bill other than that he was handsome, cool and a bit of a rebel. Or rather looked like a bit like a rebel _to Harry_.

Charlie was down-to-earth and flirtatious, charming and easy to like. Easy to get along with. His hair was probably only slightly shorter than Snape's, but it was so wild and messy that one couldn't be very certain. And his eyes…his eyes were the only kind of green that Harry had ever found beautiful – they were mostly grey, really, just mottled with enough green to give them a tint of it that stood out the most when they were sparkling or twinkling or glittering or shining with a myriad of emotions that Charlie often expressed. Then there were the freckles. They seemed to go on endlessly and they probably did.

Charlie hiccupped. "Huh." He poked Harry in the side. "Are you thinking about me?"

"Eh…" Harry coloured faintly, a band of pale pink settling across his cheeks that could easily be blamed on the sun. "What're you on about?"

"Didn't you know? When you hiccup, someone's thinking about you, so were you?"

"Thinking about you? Um. No, sorry" Harry said dryly. "Why would I do that?"

"Because you're curious about how much better at wanking I am than you."

"As if, you wanker," Harry scoffed. "And speaking of wanking, I get off on people's hands."

"Hands?" Charlie asked. "Just…hands? Feminine hands, or what?"

Harry shrugged, lips pursed. "I dunno. Just…hands. Like, someone's slowly thumbing through a book. I can get all…turned on just by watching the hands and the fingers, and how they bend their wrists or—" A shadow fell over him and when Harry finally opened his eyes, Charlie was leaning over him. He grinned and his eyes had a certain glint to them. "Now what?"

"Ever thought of freckled hands, Harry?"

Harry raised his eyebrows in incredulity. "You have freckles on your hands?" Charlie nodded, looking rather amused. "Really? Let me see, then, mate—ah." Harry sucked in a deep breath as Charlie sat down across his thighs, hands held out in front of him in invitation. Harry grasped them in his own. They were warm, like he had already known, and a bit larger than Harry's hands – he guessed that part had to do with the physical labour the man preformed daily. But they were also liberally peppered with freckles, just like Charlie had insinuated and Harry's curiosity spiked. Sitting up slowly, so that they were face to face, Harry trailed his left hand up Charlie's right arm to the man's shoulder. The sleeveless loose-fitting tunic Charlie was wearing exposed muscular limbs and hinted at an equally muscled chest, but Harry was more curious about freckles and where they could be and where they couldn't possibly be.

"So?"

Harry swallowed. "I have a question, Charlie."

"Yeah?"

"Do you really have freckles _everywhere_?"

Charlie grinned. "Why don't we see if we can find an answer to that question in my room?"

Harry hesitated. He could still back out – he could back out whenever he wanted, he knew that – but if he did that with Charlie's hands down his trousers…well, such things probably weren't easy to recover from and Harry had grown to really like the man over the course of the day. "Are we friends?"

Charlie placed his hands on Harry's bare shoulders and squeezed carefully. "We could be, yeah, but I won't lie to you, Harry, and say that I don't want more, because I do. I mean—" he gave Harry an unconvincingly innocent look, "—you're _hot_." Charlie looked so much like the twins at that moment that Harry couldn't help but laugh and Charlie laughed with him. "Of course we're friends, Harry. Now, my room or not?"

Smiling, Harry nodded. "Sure, why not?"

-x-

_"What do you mean?"_

_"When Charlie was fifteen Bill brought one of his mates home and a week later they were snogging on Charlie's bed. Percy, by chance of some bloody miracle or whatever, invited Wood for a day around Christmas in their Seventh Year – of course, Charlie already knew him, but still, same result. Then, the twins brought Lee Jordan and now I've gone and given him Harry Potter!"_

_Hermione frowned and touched Ron's arm. "But…we're so much younger…he wouldn't… Would he?"_

-x-

Harry didn't reflect on the fact that what Ron would find first would be a discarded shirt in the kitchen that looked to be Charlie's, then go on to find Harry's on the cot in his – empty – room and the rest of the house unnaturally quiet. Because when the rest of the Weasleys and Hermione finally made it back to the Burrow, Harry and Charlie were long since asleep.

But now, with Charlie having removed his tunic and standing just as shirtless as Harry, Harry had to swallow hard. Freckles, yes. Lots of them. Everywhere. They were quite possibly more of a turn on than watching hands. "Well?" he asked quietly.

Harry shook his head. "No, no… More."

"You want me to _stop_?"

"No! I want to see more!" he cried and reached over and tugged on the waistband of Charlie's trousers. "You think I'm already satisfied? Yes, Charlie, yes we've established that you have freckles on your chest– oh God." Charlie had popped the button to his equally loose-fitting trousers open.

"More?" Harry could only nod. "Then come here," he said, voice husky. "Closer."

Harry let go of the waistband, allowed Charlie to take his hand and bring it to his almost undone trousers and then Harry took over, because, really, how hard could it be? Giving a bloke a wank? He didn't realise he was breathing just as hard and rapidly as Charlie was until he tugged the fly down, and Charlie playfully nipped and kissed his jaw as he mouthed his way to an ear. Harry panted. "Gods," he groaned and slid his hand inside the open trousers and inside the pants, then he moaned again as Charlie groaned and his hips twitched.

"Harry," he breathed, and afterwards, Harry would never be quite clear on how he crossed the distance from the door, lost his own trousers and ended up naked on the bed with Charlie.

-x-

"Harry James Potter." Charlie rolled the words off his tongue as if it were some foreign, delicate wine to be savoured. Harry couldn't help but laugh or bite back the urge to cuff him over the head. So he did both. "Hey!"

"Shut it, Charles."

Charlie grimaced. "Don't say that, mate. You sound like my mum and with us being naked in bed—"

"Got it," Harry mumbled, white faced. "Charlie."

"Mmm."

"No, really. Charlie?"

"Yeah, Harry?"

Harry twisted and shifted until he was lying on his stomach half on top of Charlie, aggravating a ton of muscles and bruises, but too damn happy and sated to care. "I've completed my scientific survey.

Charlie laughed. He raised his hands and began carding them through Harry's hair. "What conclusions did you come to?"

"You do have freckles everywhere."

"Oh?" Charlie shifted to lie on his side and Harry slid off with a grunt of dissatisfaction. He grumbled as he shifted into a comfortable position on his back.

"Mmm." Harry smirked. His eyes lit up mischievously. "Unless you want me to double check?"

"Preferably, yes," Charlie said seriously and Harry chuckled, but his eyes slowly fell closed in spite of his words; he _was _tired. "Wore you out?"

"Long day," he muttered. Charlie kissed him, long and slow.

"Night."

"Hmmnf," Harry snuffled. Charlie yawned. "You, too," came the mumble.

-x-

_"Stop freaking out Ron, I'm sure—"_

_"—there's a perfectly logical explanation. Yeah, right! Sod it, Hermione!"_

_Hermione glared and placed her hand on her hips. "Ronald."_

_"My room's bloody empty, 'Mione! _Empty_!"_

_"Maybe they went out?"_

_"'Maybe they…'" Ron scoffed. "Not likely."_

-x-

Harry sat up slowly and tried to rub his sleep crusted eyes more awake. Charlie poked him in the back and Harry grunted.

"Charming," Charlie muttered.

"Fuck you," Harry yawned. He promptly fell back down on the bed. He had succeeded in pulling a threadbare quilt over him by the time Charlie noticed anything.

"Oi—"

"S'too bloody early…"

Charlie smiled mildly and stared down at the teenager curled in a ball on his bed and just barely resisted a sigh. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he placed a hand on Harry's tousled hair. Harry made a soft sound, but otherwise didn't appear to notice. "In about ten minutes, Mum'll come rushing in to wake me up. Personally, I think you have a lovely body, and if you want Mum—"

"M'up," Harry grumbled. Charlie laughed and pulled him upright, and made sure he _stayed_ upright, before walking over to a small closet. "Shirt," he demanded and Charlie tossed him one that landed on his head.

"Are you always this charming in the mornings?"

Harry glared, his hair standing out at odds and angles after having pulled the long sleeved T-shirt on. "No," he said petulantly. "Only when I've headaches. Also—" And Harry's eyes narrowed. "—did I have sex with you?"

Charlie wet his lips and shrugged. "I guess. You don't remember?"

"I'm more a bit unclear on…the, the…premises?"

"Details, Harry, details." Charlie waved him off and tossed him a pair of pants, shortly followed by the same kind of loose, linen trousers Charlie had worn the previous day. "I'm not that fussy, myself. If you enjoy it, then, yeah, sure. Why not?"

Harry nodded slowly. "…why not?" he repeated in agreement. However, he remained sitting on the bed as he, awkwardly, pulled on the pants before he even attempted to stand up. His legs felt somewhat…wobbly. "You were right," Harry stated out of the blue.

"Hmmm?"

"About your hands." Harry fought the urge to grin like a daft sod, turn an alarming shade of red, and reckoned he succeeded astonishingly well. Only his ears felt warm, and his smile, while wider than usual, matched Charlie's exactly. His throat dry, he swallowed convulsively as Charlie slowly stepped closer and, before Harry knew it, he was backed up against a wall. "I, uh. I think I might require tutelage after all."

Charlie's hands easily found Harry's hips and held on to them. "I think you might be right."

"I'm a slow learner. Just so you kn—Mmmm," Harry breathed out and clutched Charlie's hair to tug him closer. He hadn't really realised it before, but the fact that they were almost of the same height was seriously advantageous; it made kissing so damn easy and all that awkwardness and sore necks-business just went away.

Then Mrs Weasley knocked on the closed(locked?) door. "Charlie, dear? You up yet?"

("You certainly are, naughty, naughty Charlie," Harry murmured darkly, his hand squeezing and rubbing Charlie's erection through his trousers.)

"Y-yeah, Mum — _fuck_, Harry," he hissed, too quiet for Mrs Weasley to hear. "I'll be just a minute!"

Harry laughed quietly and nipped Charlie's jaw. "That quick? I didn't realise—" his tone of voice was almost conversational as he slipped his hand inside Charlie's pants and gave the hot, hard cock a few quick jerks. "—I made you that desperate, Charlie."

"You drive me wild," Charlie gasped and then Harry groaned, because when Charlie retaliated, he did it with style and vengeance.

"Oh,_ God…_"

"Thank you."

Harry opened smouldering eyes and glared. Charlie winked cheekily at him.

-x-

Flying on a broom was always an exhilarating experience, but flying tandem with Charlie Weasley was more like an adventure, Harry mused, as he laughed and whirled through the air on his Firebolt with Charlie sitting behind him. After finally making it downstairs and enduring Mrs Weasleys affections and mothering, being accosted by breakfast (and stray letters from Snape that he intended to open _much _later when he was alone – it was resting heavily against his thigh, which made it impossible for Harry to forget) and a couple of hugs, Charlie had slipped a warm and entirely welcome arm around his shoulders. Mrs Weasley had actually stilled slightly at that motion and frowned, a worried crease to her brow. Charlie had said something about potatoes and eating the last of them.

Then they were outside and Charlie, with an elated grin, summoned Harry's broom.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to try out one of these, mate," he'd murmured.

Harry had rolled his eyes and responded, "If you'd said so, I would've let you fly all of yesterday, you prat."

Charlie had gripped his shoulders, then, looking both serious and as if he was about to play the largest prank in the history of pranks on him, and said, "I fucking love you, Harry. Fucking love you. Now give me the broom." (Harry's response to that had been ignored in favour of the rather intense and breathtaking kiss Charlie then insisted to bestow on him). It had taken them another ten or so minutes before they mounted the broom, flew towards the village and procured the groceries (Charlie had looked at him with both awe and amusement in his eyes as Harry chatted to the shop assistant for fifteen minutes about football and why computers insisted on malfunctioning at the most inappropriate moments – Harry had heard enough about the latter from Dudley to know that they _did_). He wasn't sure how or why, and wasn't sure he wanted to know, but they had barely flown for five minutes before Harry felt Charlie's hand slide up and down his chest.

"Stop that, idiot."

Charlie chuckled throatily in his ear and slid his hand lower at a tantalising pace before dipping his fingers below the waistband. "You sure?"

Harry swallowed, _hard_.

And, really, it wasn't his fault that some bloody idiot had planted a huge bloody tree in the middle of a field like that. And, so what if they almost crashed into it? Charlie's hands were marvellous. Really.

So, it was a laughing, windswept, red-cheeked Harry Potter that stepped inside the Burrow with an equally laughing, windswept, red-cheeked Charlie Weasley. Harry held his broom, Charlie a bag of potatoes, onions and some other groceries they had thought might be needed at the time.

Ron's eyes were wide and pleading as he stared at Harry and asked, "What were you two doing yesterday?"

"Nice to see you, too, Ron." Harry grinned. "Not much, really. Here—" He grabbed the bag from Charlie and placed it in Ron's arms. "We're going out; I promised Charlie a ride on my broom." Harry winked at the brothers.

"Love you, Harry, absolutely love you," Charlie murmured and placed an arm around Harry's shoulders as he led him through the Burrow and out the back door.

They both missed Ron's whimper and the way his face paled. Hermione, just coming down the stairs, however, didn't. "Ron?" she asked, concerned.

"They're going out," he whispered.

"What?!"

"He said he'd promised him a ride on his broom…oh Merlin, what have I done, 'Mione?"

* * *

The end.

Have a nice weekend.


End file.
